


Artificial Love

by musicanova



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluffy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 20:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8860426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicanova/pseuds/musicanova
Summary: Charles Francis Xavier has many questions for his grandfather. Too bad he's dead and unable to answer them. OR, in the simplest form, Charles' grandfather promised his best friend that their grandchildren would get married, and Erik's the lucky grandchild of said grandfather's best friend. Maybe that wasn't so simple...





	1. A Grave Match

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jezza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jezza/gifts).



> Yes, I am trash but no, this is in no way affiliated to the absolutely wonderful EXO song of the same name.
> 
> This is for Jeremy, an offering to our Arranged Marriage AU competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much to my stunning, wonderful beta [Rianna](http://alles-vous-faire.tumblr.com/). Your work doesn't go unappreciated! (And be sure to click on her name so you can get to know her on tumblr!)

Charles' mother has an uncanny and rather unwelcome habit of always laying bad news on the young Xavier precisely when he doesn't need it.

"Now you haven't forgotten about the promise you made your grandfather, have you?" she asks, eyeing her disgruntled son carefully. The vacant stare he is currently directing at the photo she's just handed to him really isn't helping his case. 

But there's no way Charles could forget. His beloved grandfather, without even the strength to lift his arm, trying again and again to grasp at Charles' hand —  _"There's one thing I want you to do."_

Charles Xavier laughs. It's a cold sound. He had been so eager to do whatever Grandpapa wanted back then. 

In hindsight, he could have just as easily not responded until the man was dead and couldn't reprimand him. He would only have had to wait a minute longer instead of blurting out "anything for you. I'll do anything!", a blubbering mess of tears and slobber. 

Charles’ eyes cut across to the image in front of him, a photograph of him and some ginger-haired boy in a sand box, nappies wrapped firmly around their chubby little tummies. There are creases forming on the paper where Charles' knuckles are starting to turn white. He doesn't even know this boy anymore. So what if they were inseparable as toddlers? The name Erik Lehnsherr rings no bells for Charles, and at this point he doesn’t care that his mother will continue to incessantly nag him, and he doesn’t care that he promised his grandfather on his deathbed. 

He doesn’t want to marry this Eric with a K. 

_“You see Charlie, there is something that is destined for you. My best friend and I made a promise that our grandchildren would marry each other, and that’s you. I-”_

Charles stops that memory right there. He doesn’t want to be destined for something his grandfather probably promised as some sort of joke. For goodness sakes, he has a terrible crush on someone in his Uni class right now, he doesn’t have the time for this! Charles can feel his blood start to boil, and anger slowly creeps its way up past his collar as he finally crumples the photo of him and Erik into a small ball in the palm of his hand. Charles is loyal, and he hates to break his promises, but surely, just this once, Grandpapa wouldn't mind?

"Why grandchildren?" he bites out. "Why didn't  _you_ have to go through this... this suffering?" 

Charles could have sworn he saw his mother roll her eyes before she retrieves the balled up photo that he had just thrown on the ground and walks out of the living room without another word. He can't help but feel that was a little childish coming from a woman who is well into her fifties, but then again, he does suppose his own words were rather childish too. That being said, he is only twenty-one, which Charles thinks should grant him at least a little leeway in the whole “adult maturity” department. 

He will sulk about this for as long as he wants to, thank you very much. 

-«•»-

_"Come now, Charles. It's rude to be late."_

Those words are still echoing through his mind for what feels like the 500th time. He's been sitting, waiting for this Erik Lehnsherr guy for 2 hours now. Charles exhausted the batteries of his phone about an hour ago in a round robin of "call a friend and complain about the situation", "play flappy bird and bask in the novelty of such an old relic" and "furiously text a friend to complain about the situation yet again". Now, the only activity left for him to partake in is "bite tongue so as not to chew mother's head off" — and it's proving to be a very difficult task.

Talk about a lousy wedding. 

He's about to excuse himself to the bathroom when all the heads in the room turn towards a commotion that seems to be heading his way.

"You dragged me out of class to get  _married_? And the professor was aware of this but somehow, you forgot to tell me, of all people, also known as  _the person getting married_?" 

Charles hears Erik before he sees him, and as far as first impressions go, this little Xavier is ready to make a run for it. The man is literally dragged into the room by his collar, and Charles' stomach sinks further into the grasps of Satan's hands.

"How am I supposed to become a world-class maxillofacial surgeon with a husband weighing me down?" 

It takes Erik just enough time for the end of his sentence to make its way out of his mouth before he realises he has company. His face is hot and red with anger, but he snaps his mouth closed when he realises the lobby of the venue for his wedding ceremony is probably not the best place to be causing a scene. Considering it looks very much like he doesn't have a way out of this, he resolves to plaster a crooked smile on his face, and take a step towards the man waiting for him.

He tries to introduce himself, but he's cut off by a very curt voice. 

"Erik, I know." 

"I don't know your-"

"Charles." 

And no less than 10 measly minutes later, the two are married, rings that their grandparents had bought in anticipation for this very moment secured firmly on their fingers. The only problem? Charles' ring was made for a girl and it's... well it's very lovely, but he feels the large stone rather inappropriate for a clumsy male such as himself. Oh, who is he kidding, he's just miffed that it fits his small hand perfectly. 

Too perfectly, to the point that Charles is happy to say that Grandpapa Xavier is beloved no more. 

-«•»-

The photographer that Charles' mother had hired snaps the last photograph before heading out to his next client, and it's at that moment that a storm cloud rushes its way over to Charles' head, like as if it had only just remembered that it was supposed to be there. 

Nostrils flaring, he snatches his mother's arm and all but hauls the woman into an empty looking corridor before letting the thunder loose. 

"A maxi- a max-" 

Erik, who had silently followed, curious as to what's going on, wonders if Charles is having trouble pronouncing his dream profession.

"A maxillofacial surgeon!"

Ah, so he's just flustered and his mind's working faster than his mouth. 

"A  _maxillofacial surgeon_. Really?"

Charles is already shouting, and Erik has half the mind to be offended by how appalled his husband seems. 

"You couldn't get your own damn son to become a doctor so your next solution is to find yourself a son-in-law for you to call your own and cherish instead? How nifty of you." 

The boy sneers, and yes, maybe Erik should technically be referring to Charles as a man, but he can't help it that his new husband just looks like an upset puppy.

"It suddenly makes so much sense to me why you were so set on me marrying this guy! Was a specialist school teacher too lowly for you, your highness?" Charles grins toothily at his mother, the nice, big, hollow one he saves for when people try to mug him (don't ask, it's happened twice already), and he gives another cold laugh to drive his point home. 

He bows, then turns on his heel to find Erik gaping, the man having forgotten to conceal himself while eavesdropping. 

"Oh shut your bloody mouth you overpriced potato," Charles snaps, pushing past his husband and heading straight for the door.

Erik thinks he could fall in love with those terrible insults. It's just such a shame that he loathes the mouth making them. He has no plans to be playing nice with the churlish little man who didn't even have the decency to greet him properly, let alone allow him to finish his sentences. As he makes his way back to the lobby in a slow trudge, Erik thinks there's only one way things could possibly get worse. To be specific, that's if-

"I forgot to mention, darling, you'll be moving in with Charles next week. The Xavier's own a townhouse that's convenient for the both of you, so they've set the current tenant to move out by the end of this week and it'll be all yours by Monday! Isn't that sweet of them?" 

Alright.  _Now_ things can't get any worse. 

——«•»——

It’s quite sad really, that both Charles and Erik had thought that things couldn't get any worse, but well... things happen, you know? 

"Things" being that the photographer Charles' mother had hired was... desperate for his breakthrough, to say the least. Desperate to the point that he sold the photographs he took to a newspaper and returned home to bathe in the money he earned from it. Of course, any news on the young Xavier disappointment is greatly treasured in the news, where naming and shaming is a professional game. So as could only be expected, there on the front page for the whole world to see, is a giant photograph of Charles Francis Xavier and Erik Magnus Lehnsherr with tense smiles, paired with the header "XAVIER'S LITTLE SECRET", a title so unoriginal that Charles can't even give the paper any credit on the article at all. 

He sits, tense at his desk, the last of his boxes taped up and ready to go. And then Monday comes, far too quickly. 

It pounces on Charles' back like a relentless tiger that digs its claws into his shoulders until it's drawing blood. In some ways, he should be glad that his mother finally let him out from under her nose, but now he's not sure if it's a blessing or a curse that the moment he moves out of the Xavier mansion he's holed up with a guy who he just married a few days ago. 

On top of the stress of moving in, Charles now needs to come up with a plan to calm down the budding news surrounding his buzzing marriage. No wait, the  _buzzing_ news surrounding his  _budding_ marriage. He knows he should have slept last night. 

Charles is just thanking the driver of the moving truck when Erik turns up with two suitcases and a man-bag slung over his shoulder. He struts down the street in a leather jacket and reflective sunglasses, boots heavy on the bitumen of the road (does his husband not know how to walk on the footpath made specifically for human usage?), making his way downto the house at a leisurely pace. 

"There's my favourite overpriced potato!" Charles coos at Erik, well aware that the movers are watching his every move. 

Erik reaches him before responding with a "Hey there hot chocolate", dropping a kiss to the top of Charles' head while he's at it. 

Charles swears the mover honest-to-God blushes and gives his congratulations to "the happy couple!" before bustling off down the road in his truck. 

The moment he's turned the corner, Charles grabs Erik by the wrist and yanks him into the townhouse with no regard for the luggage that's turned upside down and dragging on the concrete. 

"Oh my God I'm so sorry, I should have thought this through properly. Agreeing to your grandparent's promise is all well and fine when you're  _not_ an Xavier, but now I've just up and dragged you into this mess and wow! We made it to the front page of the Sunday paper, isn't that great! I'm just surprised the news wasn't everywhere by Thursday, you know? Jeez people are really slacking these days. Is it hot in here? I feel like it's hot in here let me turn the air conditioning on I'll be right back..."

Charles is a stuttering mess before Erik, mouth running a mile a minute, and he doesn't stop until the taller of the two literally fists his hand into the back of Charles' shirt, rendering him unable to move, his words trailing off as he flails around. 

"Relax, Charles," Erik says, uncurling his hand from the shirt and spinning the shorter man around. "It's no big deal."

The words shock Charles. He's expecting a blow-up; something to rival the extravagant entrance Erik had made when they first met, but instead, there's just quiet understanding, and it throws him for a hook. He doesn't understand — Erik should be angry, heck,  _Charles_ is angry. But maybe he's just disappointed that right when he thought he was out of being scrutinised by the public, he's back on the front page. 

"It's not so bad if you think about it. We just need to be in love to the public," Erik smiles, like as if it's that easy to pretend to be absolutely infatuated by someone he's just met. Not to mention they're in the honeymoon phase, which means it needs to be ten times as sickening or the public won't buy it. 

Charles lays out his worries before Erik, sighing as he goes. He doesn't forget to mention that he failed drama class back in high school. Erik tells him to think of it as a fun game, but there's nothing fun about  _knowing_ that you're going to slip up and screw yourself over while the whole world is watching. 

They had a silent agreement that was passed when they exchanged their rings that they would play nice for their parents, but now...

"You have yourself a done deal, Mr. Lehnsherr," Charles holds out his hand. When all's said and done, he knows there's no other way out of this one.

They shake on it, and Charles gives his husband a weak smile before giving him a tour of the house. It's nothing luxurious like the looming mansion that he grew up in, but it's cosy, with that lived-in feel that the last tenant left behind. And now with Erik at his back, Charles thinks maybe things aren't quite as bad as he thought after all. For the first time in a while he feels warm, like the sun has finally decided to make its appearance out from behind the clouds. 

"So, my darling overpriced potato," he grins, using his signature insult that he's now permanently reserved for Erik (Germans eat a lot of potatoes, right? Or is that the Irish…). He's already making a run for the room that he wants to claim as his own as he yells his next words over his shoulder. "Who's going to take one for the team and take the bedroom without the en suite?" 

Erik gives him a quick glare, before settling his belongings in Charles' room then making himself at home in "the guest bedroom". 

Dubbing themselves Team Cherik, they claim themselves nothing if not prepared for the scrutiny of the nosy, clinking flutes of champagne together as they start their new life together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for stopping by! I'm [wintersolqiers](http://wintersolqiers.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, so come hit me up! If you're a reader of [Bucky Barnes Daily](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7298398/chapters/16575937), I haven't forgotten about it, and the final chapter will hopefully be up by next week!


	2. Pants on Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's a big day for me, so I thought I'd get this chapter out to you before I'm high on anaesthetic, because that's better, right? I'll be in like, house lockdown for the next week or so after getting my wisdom teeth removed, so I'm hoping that I'll get to update this pretty frequently! 
> 
> Thank you to my beta [Rianna](http://alles-vous-faire.tumblr.com/)!

Erik wakes up to a sound which is distinctly different from the obnoxious chirping of his intrusive next door neighbour's "Polly" — silence. The bird who had taken it upon herself to herald him every morning is making no effort to blast his ear off. Then Erik opens his eyes, and things start to fall into place. There's a reason that it's so eerily quiet around him; the ceiling is unfamiliar, and now that he thinks about it, so is the plushness of the bed. And the pillow. He feels like he's lying in clouds, and what are those - curtains that actually block out the morning sun? 

Suddenly, Erik feels like he really lucked out on this whole marriage thing. His new home is infinitely more lavish than his old apartment, he gets to prove his bastard friends wrong who said he would surely die alone, and the marriage is an easy escape from the (unwelcome) advances of skimpy girls (what is it with twiggy blondes and their "tall, dark and handsome" fetishes? Erik's not dark, he's about as pale as old parchment! — he can just hear his mother reprimanding him for his terrible manners: "Just give the girl a chance! It's rude to stereotype, and you know you hate it when people do the same to you", "Just because she likes to dress in flouncy short skirts doesn't mean she's skimpy, I didn't raise you to be like this, young man!"— and don't even get him started on the guys).

Erik smiles to himself. He can even smell coffee brewing, and while he likes his mornings to himself, he wouldn't mind sitting at a table with- 

Erik cuts his thought short, wiping the smile off his face with the back of his hand, before scowling deeply. He doesn't like Charles. He loathes the insufferable ratbag that dares to coo at him with stupid insults like "overpriced potato". But, seeing as quite literally every bone in his body is aching for a caffeine hit, and they do need to have a big discussion about the nature of their acting in public, he resolves to slide out of bed and into the oddly fluffy room slippers that match the lampshade on his bedside table, and makes his way downstairs. 

Charles is blinking blearily down at the mug in his hands, as he has been doing for the past half an hour. He's a lover of sleeping-in; in fact he's married to sleeping-in, and he feels like he's betrayed his one true love by marrying Erik. 

He hopes sleep can forgive him. 

"Good morning," he yawns to the footsteps, and points a floppy arm out in the direction of the kitchen counter. "That's your mug, I would've poured you a cup but I wasn't sure when you'd be up." 

Erik nods by way of reply although he's not sure if the other sees it, and sits before Charles with his own steaming mug. 

"So how did you sleep?" Charles asks, just as Erik begins to say "About our plan of attack-", effectively putting an end to all forms of small talk about their night.

Erik swoops straight into planning mode immediately. After all, he prides himself in his determination, and he'll be damned if he doesn't fool the whole world that he's heart-flutteringly, completely and utterly besotted by the little puppy sitting across the table from him. It's kind of like God's given him a chance to take a sort of shot at his childhood dream of becoming an actor, back when he was seven and his ginger hair led him to believe he was destined to be a part of the Weasley family after having been given an overdose of bright red-haired actors in  _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_. 

"Obviously we'll need to be friendly in front of our parents. We don't need them constantly on our backs about playing nice or whatever," says Erik. He doesn't think it needs to be said, but he doesn't want to look too eager about pretending to be in love. After all, he hates the guy, and he has no intentions of spending time with him when he doesn't need to be. 

"Yes of course," Charles smiles agreeably. He's glad that they're on the same page for at least one thing; he's never been good at handling broken families, even though technically Erik and him aren't really a family. 

They end up spending the entire morning together, coffee cups pushed aside and piping hot pizza ordered, joking about how the public will react to their honeymoon antics. Erik scoffs down an incredible two and a half pizzas by himself, scandalising Charles to no end, who only makes it through three pieces before calling a time out and nursing his food baby with a glass of water. Charles argues that it's because he ate most of the garlic bread, but Erik knows that's far from the truth because he insisted on paying, so he actually bought five pieces of garlic bread and only put three on the table. 

"I don't know if I can stay married to you, gumdrop. If you can't keep up with my stomach I'm going to have to drop you somewhere along the way," Erik pokes at Charles' belly. 

"Ah sod off, mate," Charles' head lolls around to give Erik a weak glare. There's no heat behind it, but he doesn't appreciate his food baby being jabbed at. It's precious, and needs to be protected at all costs. "Imagine taking that to court though," he chuckles a few silent moments later. "We have to file a divorce. His stomach is too small for my liking, and I simply can’t stay married to him! - They'll think we're mad!" 

"And we're not?" Erik cocks his head. "Mad, that is." 

"Oh we're certainly mad. But they don't need to know that." 

"I don't know Xavier, I think they already know  _you're_ mad." 

Charles resolutely doesn't respond, and instead turns the conversation back to their "Plan Lovey Dovey" (for lack of a better name), feigning a terrible memory, which requires urgent refreshment of the exact details of the plan, lest he forget before the day's end. He gets up to grab a pen and paper too to solidify his point, and rests his chin in his hand, waiting expectantly for Erik to start talking. 

-«•»-

"Mama!" Erik yells. 

He enters his snug childhood home with Charles on his heel to find Mrs. Xavier in his father's favourite armchair, and his father staring longingly at said armchair from beside his mother on the sofa. 

"This is so exciting, dear! Our first gathering as a family! What did you two want to talk to us about?" Edie jumps up, engulfing her son in a bone-crushing hug. 

On the other side of the room, Charles makes his way over to his mother, engulfing her in a special embrace that's used specifically for the purpose of exchanging small conversations. 

"Thanks for not bringing Kurt," he whispers in his mother's ear. 

"You know that man is not my husband. He hasn't been for two years."

It's longer than that, Charles thinks. Kurt Marko has never been his mother's husband. It may have taken him running off with half the money and "just vacaying for a bit in the Bahamas" for Sharon Xavier to realise that she had married a literal garbage chute, but she had realised, and Charles can't reiterate enough how important that is to him. 

"So what are we here for?" Jakob rubs his hands together. 

"Well Papa," Erik starts, and the face he makes has both his parents sighing, because they just know they're in for a long ride. Perhaps it's the downside to having a driven son. 

Charles and Erik explain their plan in great detail. They know the press will be on them, and it'll take time for things to die down around them. So instead, why not fuel them up? Charles knows for a fact that the press is out to get him; is out to try and permanently destroy him and pummel him into dust that sweeps the concrete of back alleyways. To fight back, they need to give them so much that there's no room for them to try and spin rumours. 

This includes ample displays of affection in public, anywhere and everywhere they can. Without compromising their respective studies, it's easiest to drop off or pick up each other from their classes at University, study together in the library or in cafés, go out on dates on weekends, and Charles already has the address of Erik's part time job saved in his phone. 

They discuss possibilities for a short honey moon trip, because while studies are important, the news will most certainly be harping on about how the Xavier's have skimped their newest member on their stash of money, or some uncreative bullshit like that if they don't go on one. 

"I'd love to go to Germany," Charles smiles softly. "But if it's a short trip..."

"Then and again, you know if you travel too close they're going to start screaming about how you don't know how to treat "your man" right," Sharon cuts in.

The entire room simmers down to murmurs, and Charles gives up. 

"Screw it," he says, standing up and spreading his arms out. "Take me to Germany, my love!" 

Jakob and Edie laugh, but Erik merely scoffs. 

"I'm not paying for this. You take me to Germany."

"Using me for my money. I knew it." 

Charles tries to keep a straight face, but he dissolves into giggles after holding on for three seconds. 

As they're laughing together, they fail to notice that they haven't been needing to play pretend friendly in front of their parents, and they certainly don't realise that the three are exchanging knowing looks that are part relief that their sons aren't tearing each other's hair out, and part pure joy, because there's nothing a parent wishes more than their child's happiness. 


	3. An Audience of None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More thanks to [Rianna](http://alles-vous-faire.tumblr.com/) for being an A+ beta! Please do enjoy.

Putting the plan of action  _into action_ is an experience Charles isn't entirely prepared for. He's kind of been thrust into it by circumstance, and he feels the same way as he did at his first swimming lesson, when the instructor thought that it would be a genius idea to up and bomb throw Charles into the deep end without any floaties like as if he would just miraculously be able to swim.

The biggest similarity between the two situations is that in both cases, his life is at stake. 

 

Erik takes Charles to his lecture on a Monday, and, to the poor boy’s utter mortification, his entire class bursts into applause. Charles literally feels the blood rush to his cheeks, as his face spontaneously decides to imitate a Christmas tree that has been zealously attacked by overly festive relatives with a fetish for red tinsel. So much so, that Erik's ice cold water bottle is lukewarm after putting it to Charles' cheeks and they're still a bright, hot, flaming red. It's endearing, and Erik likes it, so he finds himself doing things that will bring Charles maximum embarrassment. His actions are justified: they have to sell the whole "in-love" act, but perhaps he doesn't have to dip Charles in front of the professor and plant a firm kiss right on his lips. 

To the public, Erik and Charles are inseparable (except when Charles has been embarrassed), and the newspapers eat every loving moment right up, chewing viciously before spitting their information out in the hot gossip columns. 

When it's Charles' turn to take Erik to Uni, he flutters around the ginger with nervous excitement that quickly turns into nervous horror as he comes face to face with his new spouse’s friends. Emma Frost, commonly known as the Ice Queen amongst the students of the school, inspects her perfectly manicured fingernails as she says her greetings to Charles. Azazel (does he have a surname? Charles supposes he'll never know) is less welcoming, if that's even possible, and gives Charles a mere half-hearted grunt. Despite these less than welcoming greetings, it's actually Alex Summers that scares Charles the most, with his hollow smile and empty voice that just barely makes it around a "Nice to meet you, I'm Alex." 

To keep his fear at bay, Charles chalks it up to the fact that the blond is probably tired. He hopes he is, because if not, then those are some high-quality Gucci eye bags. Not to mention, if Alex is tired enough, then hopefully he won't remember just how tightly Charles clung to Erik's arm. 

"Hey sweet pea, no need to look so scared," Erik laughs. 

To say Charles is unhappy with being laughed at is a little bit of an understatement.

"I'm not scared, I'm wholly intimidated," he pouts in response. "Protect me, you overpriced potato." 

The Ice Queen finally looks up from her nails at that, and she smiles.

-«•»-

"I can't believe you've actually gone and done it. You knew all along didn't you? You knew you'd win the bet, and you said nothing so you could rake in our money," Azazel says with a roll of his eyes. 

Erik tries to feign innocence, but his surname-less friend clucks his tongue, unconvinced. In reality though, Erik had completely forgotten. 

"How long have you two been a thing, anyway?" Emma drawls, swinging a pen between her fingers like a cigarette. 

"We've been married for two weeks, ma'am," Charles answers in a voice that’s bordering on a squeak. 

Emma coos at her friend's new husband, throwing around words like 'adorable' and 'cute' and 'puppy' this way and that. Charles appreciates that Erik's friends are warming up to him, but he can't exactly say that he enjoys his cheeks being pinched. He didn't even know that acrylic nails were such dangerous weapons of destruction until his baby fat was being poked at. To make matters worse, Erik agrees to every one of Emma's words, and he ruffles Charles' hair while he's at it. 

While Charles is busy trying to grab Erik's hand so that he can bite it (presumably a suitable punishment for ruffling his hair), Erik's gang (yes, Charles has decided that they're too scary to be referred to as a "group") unanimously agrees that this is no bluff, and Erik hasn't up and found an escort just to scam his friends of their money. 

"You two are so perfect I'm almost jealous!" Emma grins at them. 

Alex smirks before he talks. "I mean I still can't get my head wrapped around the fact that this is your type. Cute little balls of sunshine? Who would have thought." 

"Precisely!" Azazel nods along. "Emma's matchmaking antics would have been much more successful if we hadn't kept going for the quiet, brooding types." 

Now it's Erik's turn to blush, but it fades quickly as the conversation flows in and out of different topics, and soon the five are rushing out of the café because  _shoot_ Erik missed his tutorial an hour ago, and didn't everyone else have classes too?

Alex is the first of the five to dash from the place, leaving a mountain of curse words in his wake as he yells about how his shift starts in exactly four minutes and fifty-two seconds and that his boss was already skeptical enough about hiring a University student, and his mistrust is so deep to the point that he'll surely be fired if he turns up even a second late. 

-«•»-

"Sir! Sir, may we have a moment of your time?" 

There's the sound of running, and then he's surrounded by notebooks and microphones and little tape recorder looking things — the kind that Alex only sees in movies when celebrities are being hounded by news reporters. 

He doesn't have the time for this though; he's running late, he's  _going to be fired_ , and he needs this job more than he needs his life. So, Alex does what he does best, and roars at the crowd that's growing around him in the hopes that they'll just "Goddamn piss off, I don't even have a millisecond of my time to give to you!" 

But while most of the reporters disperse in fear, there are a few who struggle to keep up with his sprinting form, throwing questions at him like erratic baseball pitchers who have a death wish for the batter whose turn is up. 

Unluckily for the stragglers, Alex hits a mean home run, so he yanks on the hand of the closest reporter to make sure the heeled woman keeps up the pace with him, and he growls a quick "for God's sake they're going on a honeymoon to Germany after the term ends, now leave me alone before I get fired!" before more or less shoving the girl onto the pavement just metres before his work. 

Making it to work five seconds before his shift starts feels more like barely making it to first base than a home run, but if it means he won't get fired then he'll take the knee-slide through the dirt any day. 

——«•»——

“Hey Erik I-” Charles tries to say, but before he can finish his words he’s pushed past and left in the corridor as Erik closes the door to his room.

He sighs, and hangs his head in defeat. He finds it hard to believe that this is the same man who ruffles his hair, the same man that struggles to keep his hands off his arse, and most importantly the same man that’s always sneaking kisses from him when they’re in public. Just before entering the door, Erik had looked him in the eye and said “Good job, sprout, I thought you said you weren’t good at acting?” with the biggest smile on his face and now, nothing.

More than anything, it’s almost impossible to believe that they actually manage pull anything off. Not with the cold shoulder business Erik loves to shrug into the moment he sets one toe in the door. 

It doesn’t get any easier to handle no matter how much time passes. In fact, if Charles is being entirely honest, it gets worse.

The day after Charles meets Erik’s friends, he opens the door to find himself back on the front of the newspaper… again.

“GERMANY-BOUND, EXCLUSIVE STORY ON PAGE 4!” he chirps in his fake-cheerful voice, before using his (not) toned arms to tear the entire paper in half and hurl it at the wall.

It doesn’t make sense to Charles: if they get along so well in public, why can’t they keep being friends inside the house? Surely, _surely_ , not all of that is acting. Does everything they do have to be a show for the audience?

It takes every ounce of Charles’ courage to not curl up around the stupid newspaper article about their honeymoon and fall asleep with it in his arms.

Which is to say, Charles does not have much courage when it comes to these things, and he does fall asleep around the newspaper, tears making a steady pathway down his cheeks and towards the pillow. 

He’s not quite above crying himself to sleep, puffy eyes be damned.

(It’s not like Erik will notice them anyway.)


	4. Kiss Your Silhouette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh... Happy Australia Day? Thanks, as always to my wonderful beta [Rianna](http://alles-vous-faire.tumblr.com/)!

The house is a lot colder now that Charles has accepted that Erik won't like him. It's been one and a half months of living like this, and Charles is already tired of it all. Their relationship is built on nothing but pretending to be in love for the public, and he can only say it's an incredibly lonely way to live. In fact, by any normal standards of human interaction, he’s pretty sure he and Charles wouldn't even be classified as having a relationship if someone were to view their “home” life. By this point, he's even put a stopper on fruitless thoughts like "things would have been different if we had just met in different circumstances"; there's a certain way that Erik stalks around the corridors that shows Charles he's only there because he has to be. 

Even the way he sits on the sofa screams "pick an alternate universe, any alternate universe, and you can bet your skinny white arse I won't be here". 

 _That's_ how much Charles knows Erik hates this. 

He shakes his head, and huffs out a frustrated puff of air as he looks at the clock. He's on the verge of being late, and he doesn't need to be making any bad impressions, especially not with the state his life is at home. He grabs his coat off the hanger and rushes out with his bag on his shoulder, phone ready to navigate. 

-«•»-

"Sorry I'm late, Edie, just uh... got a little lost on the way." 

You see, Charles' life may be in turmoil when it comes to the topic of Erik Lehnsherr, but he'll be damned if he doesn't give the man at least one happy memory to walk away with at the end of this all. They've decided that their honeymoon will be in Germany at the end of the term - not that anyone needs to be told since there was a full coverage of it in the newspaper just about a month ago - and Charles is determined to learn German for the sake of the smooth-sailing of their trip overseas. 

He not only aims to impress Erik, but make him feel at ease, all while enjoying the experience of immersion in a different culture.

"How is my son doing, dear?" Edie asks her son-in-law as they sit face to face, Charles' library-borrowed textbooks creating a nice, sturdy mountain between them. 

"Wonderfully. He's been awful busy lately but I dare say it's a good thing. He was still fast asleep when I left the house," Charles smiles. He has no idea if Erik was fast asleep, but he supposes he was, considering there were no sounds coming from his bedroom. Plus, he assumes Edie is well aware of Erik's habit of not falling asleep until the sun is already out. 

(Charles has had a month and a half to get used to seeing the man still awake and hunched over his desk when he wakes up to go to the toilet in the middle of the night.) 

They spend the morning chatting, Edie saying all of her sentences in German before repeating them again in English, laughing as she watches Charles' eyes light up every time he understands a word. He's an eager student, always ready to learn, and she can't help but allow her eyes to tear up a little when the boy pulls out a list of questions asking about Erik's likes and dislikes and ancestry in Germany. 

"We still own the cottage that I grew up in," Edie mentions. 

"Oh! We must visit it!" is the enthusiastic response. 

Charles is almost too caring, too endearing, and for a split second Edie fears her son pushing this boy away. She brushes the thought off quickly - the brunet sitting before her looks nothing short of happy, and she thinks there's nothing to worry about. 

She's only a little wrong about that.

——«•»——

Erik returns home to an empty house mid-afternoon, trailing into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. He finds the dining room table in a state of disarray and sighs to himself, but when he makes his way over he finds that his heart has skipped a beat or two and his breath has caught in his throat. 

Amongst the notebooks and textbooks that are scattered around, there's one sheet that catches Erik's attention, and he carefully picks it up. 

" _Charles' Pronunciation Hints for sounding Cool and Native!_ " the page reads in familiar scrawl.

> _d_ at the end of a word sounds like  _t_  
>  _ß_ =  _ss_ (double  _s_ as in hi ss)  
>  _er_ sounds like  _air_ as in hair  
>  _w_ sounds like  _v_ as in  very  
>  _au_ sounds like  _ow_ as in now  
>  _ie_ sounds like  _ee_ as in s ee  
>  _ei_ sounds like  _i_ as in bite  
>  _v_ sounds like  _f_ as in  flute  
>  _e_ at the end of a word is always pronounced  
>  _j_ sounds like  _y_ as in yet  
>  _eu_ sounds like  _oy_ as in boy  
>  _sp_ sounds like  _shp  
>  st _ sounds like  _sht_

Erik reads along, chuckling as he makes his way down the sheet until it hits him how dreadful he's been; how terrible a mistake he's made. The man he's married is making such an effort — has  _always_ been making an effort, and here's Erik with his permanent scowl and silent treatment. His husband is too good for him, and Erik needs a way out. He can't be the one dragging Charles through- 

The next laugh that forces itself out of Erik's throat is wet and cold, ringing in his ears. He can't believe that at the start of this, he had thought  _Charles_ would be the one dragging him down. It scares him though, that he can see himself dropping everything for this man. It scares him half to death that he doesn't even have to think hard to picture himself giving up his dream of becoming a maxillofacial surgeon for a person he barely knows. 

Erik puts the piece of paper back on the table before he can give Charles any evidence that he's seen it, and retreats to his room with slow steps. 

He locks the door to his room and immediately has his laptop open, fingers flying frantically over the keys. He has to prepare something for Charles on this honeymoon, anything to tell the man that no matter how Erik seems, he is appreciated. 

His hands still, and he looks at the Google Chrome icon as it bounces in his dock. 

Is it embarrassing to Google "nice things to do for your husband on a honeymoon"? 

His phone rings, and he glances down to see the name at the top of the screen. " _Frost_ ". 

"Emma, now's not the time I'm-" Erik starts. 

"Aww this is cute; I don't think I've ever heard you sound flustered! What is it, Charles problems?" 

Erik curses how perceptive the woman is, but opens up about his struggles anyway, which is to say he cuts off her laughing with a yelled: " _HOW DO I DO SOMETHING SPECIAL FOR HIM ON OUR HONEYMOON?_ " 

Admittedly not one of his wisest decisions, but he's five minutes into thinking up ideas and he's already desperate. He doesn’t know _how_ to be a nice person to his husband and it's starting to freak him out. However, after a gruelling ten minutes of having received nothing but endless teasing from his friend, he hangs up and decides to dial Azazel's number instead. 

"Look, I'm only going to beg you for something once in my life, and that time is now."

In Erik's mind, it's not embarrassing to Google "nice things to do for your husband on a honeymoon" if you get your friend to do it for you instead. Besides, "what if the news gets a hold of my search history?" is a totally legitimate excuse, and Erik Magnus Lehnsherr is practically a genius for thinking up such a brilliant way to avoid the wrath of the pesky media. 

-«•»-

It's a week later that he finally decides on what to do, and he can't help the sly grin that creeps onto his face as he hands the designs in to the jewellery store that he trusts will create the perfect masterpiece for him. 

It's a simple golden ring made of two circular bands that intertwine at four different sections, and on the inside is inscribed  _"that which is in possession of this ring may arrange their grandchild in marriage"._  

Erik wholeheartedly believes that this will be the perfect family heirloom to be passed down for many decades to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *war flashbacks to Year 8 German class (with Rianna, actually, except that one of us retained that information in their brain -hint: it's not me- and one of us didn't -that's me!!!-)*


	5. City Street Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your much awaited chapter is here! I hope you enjoy it. Updates will be slow as we start Uni, so just a warning! I do have a fair few chapters written up, but they're still in the beta process so they'll take some time. To make up for it I've been making sure that no chapters are under 1k words :3
> 
> On to the chapter!

"Erik, hold my hand," Charles demands, shoving his left hand into the taller's right. He bounces on his heels as he waits in the line to check in, sighing every four seconds and looking resolutely at the ground. He's been on edge for at least a week now, but there's something about having to be under the constant scrutiny of the public;  _intentionally_ thrusting yourself into the public eye in the hopes that they'll back off if you satisfy them enough, that has Charles unable to keep the jitters at bay.

He just knows that there's paparazzi hiding out in the fake potted plants that adorn the airport, that one of the impeccably-dressed women at the counters is a journalist in hiding, that from now until the end of the honeymoon, someone will always be watching him. 

Erik seems perpetually nonchalant towards the eye of a passerby, untangling his hand from Charles' and choosing to instead wrap it around the shorter's waist as he hums an old German lullaby to himself. His face is lit by sunbeams streaming through the glass ceiling of the departures hall of the airport, but despite the tranquil aura that Erik emits (which the lighting only seems to perpetuate), to Charles, Erik is stiff. Not that he's usually pliable and languid, but Erik's hand has a death grip on Charles' hip, and the muscles of his arm are trembling ever so slightly. Not to mention Erik never sings. Not ever. And it's highly unlikely that the first time he decides to let a tune grace his lips is amongst a crowd of many others. 

Charles doesn't really know what to do to ease Erik’s apparent tension though, after all, inside the house he's never had to deal with Erik in any way, shape or form. He spots a couple in the distance and notices the girl very affectionately has her hands in the back pockets of her boyfriends' jeans as they hug goodbye, so he slowly lifts his hand off the handle of his suitcase and slides it into the pocket that doesn't hold Erik's phone. 

The body beside him tenses momentarily, but the hand on Charles' hip loosens a little, so he leaves his hand in the pocket, valiantly fighting to keeping a blush at bay by trying  _very_ hard to not think about where his hand is. 

"Next please!" a lady at the check-in counter calls, and the two disentangle themselves before making their way over. 

——«•»——

There's something Erik hasn't been able to tell Charles, but now, as they're walking down the aisle to their seats, doesn't seem like a good time to mention that he's deathly afraid of flying. There's a reason why he asked Charles to make his first experience of flying be in economy class — he'd told the brunet it was because he wanted an authentic experience for his first time on a plane but really, he just needed to be able to grab a hold of Charles' hand with ease if he let his fears get the best of him. 

Erik doesn't particularly want to blame his parents, per se, but his fear of flying  _did_ kind of blossom from their stories so... 

"You need to know about your culture," his father had said. And thanks dad, because you weren't even alive for World War II, but the way you tell stories is so vivid it makes me feel like every plane is going to drop bombs somewhere and kill innocent people and I feel  _great!_

Erik takes his seat by the window and watches Charles buckle his belt before following suit, sitting on his hands soon after so that his husband can't see just how terrified he is. 

"I probably should have told you earlier," Erik tries for a smile, breathless. "I'm scared of planes." 

Charles looks up, and his eyes are expectant, like he's waiting for an explanation as to why he's scared, for him to tell him what he can do to help (like the perfect husband he is, what a bastard), but Erik simply shakes his head. 

"There's nothing to be afraid of," is all Charles says, taking one of Erik's hands and closing both of his around them. His thumb is rubbing circles into his palm, and Charles rests his head on Erik's shoulder, his breath ghosting his collarbone.

"A plane is simply a mode of transport," he begins. "Like cars and boats, trains, buses and trams, it takes you from one place to another."

At first it tickles, to have Charles' lips moving against his neck as he speaks, but slowly it becomes relaxing, being able to feel the words on his skin as he hears them. Erik's breathing slows down while Charles is in the middle of explaining the mechanics of the aeroplane, quietly talking over the safety demonstration and captain’s announcement. 

"You see, Erik, the first plane was flown in 1907. That's over one hundred years ago, and I can assure you technology has come so far that you are in very safe hands. Of course, there are accidents, but they are very rare and you have nothing to worry about."

Okay, that last part was completely unnecessary and Erik doesn't need to be reminded that sometimes these things crash and everything goes up in flames, but he appreciates the effort. Especially seeing as Charles’ explanation had carried him all the way through taxi and take off (undoubtedly the most terrifying part of any plane trip) and they were now fully in the air, seemingly without him having even realised they had departed. Somewhere in his mind Erik wonders if it might have been a better idea to have listened to the safety demonstration instead of Charles, but he supposes they don’t give you a safety booklet for nothing.

As he's looking out the window, he notices that the hands around his own slacken in grip, and he turns from the serene speckling of clouds to find Charles fast asleep on his shoulder, lips parted in an 'o' and looking dangerously like drool will escape from it in the next few minutes. 

There's a crick in Erik's shoulder, but with his husband so peaceful he finds it hard to lift the head off to relieve himself of the pain. He's sat through three movies, two episodes of terrible sitcoms, and now that his eyes are starting to burn from staring at a screen unblinking for too long, he doesn't know what to do with himself. He's lost the urge to go to the toilet long ago, back about three hours when he'd shuffled a little, only to have Charles whine in his sleep and wrap his arms around him, (now Erik's not complaining, it certainly takes his mind off of the fact that he is still afraid of planes, but at the same time he doesn’t want to pee his pants) and after that there's not much else one can do on a plane. 

Erik uses his free arm to push back a stray hair of Charles', and doesn't remember much else as his eyes flutter closed. 

-«•»-

When Erik awakes, it's to the sound of a flight attendant announcing that the seatbelt sign has been switched back on, and that the cabin crew will commence preparations for landing. Somehow, Charles is still sound asleep, as he has been for the last nine to ten hours, and manages to stay all the way through the jolting landing, and Erik's starting to wonder if he's gone into hibernation. He watches as the people around him file out of the plane, quick to be on ground again, then looks down at the head on his shoulder. 

"Sorry," he whispers as a flight attendant gestures to Charles. "I will wake him up soon, I promise."

The man walks away with a soft smile, signalling for his crew members to begin cleaning up elsewhere.

Erik doesn't have to wait long, because less than a minute later, Charles cracks an eye open, head snapping up.

"Oh my God, Erik! Everyone's gone! Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" he exclaims, undoing his buckle at the speed of lightning and leaping out of his seat.

Erik is glad, he supposes, that the way Charles is bouncing about in panic leaves no room for either of them to be awkward about the fact that the shorter man had just spent an entire flight to Germany fast asleep with his head on his husband-but-not-husband's shoulder. Actually - Charles didn't even wake up for a glass of water, or for an in-flight meal, as Erik watches the man bumble about, he ponders when Charles' energy supply will deplete and if he's going to have to carry the man over his shoulder through the streets of Berlin if he passes out. 

Once they've finally made it out of the airport, Charles pulls Erik over to take a photograph of the two of them, promptly uploading it onto Instagram for the masses to feast on. 

"Come on, I could deal with something to eat right about now," he tugs at Erik's sleeve, leading them out into the big city. 

——«•»——

Charles opens the text from his friend Hank excitedly, wondering what's been happening back home in the short time he's been away, but when he sees the image he's been sent, the smile quickly slides off his face. 

 _"ECONOMY HARMONY"_ the front of a newspaper reads, with a photograph of Charles fast asleep on Erik's shoulder — damn, those news people are fast. 

The article scrutinises the fact that Charles and Erik had taken an economy flight to Germany, slandering the Xavier name (and the family’s apparent stinginess) by exclaiming about how Charles didn't even have the decency to fly his husband to Germany in business class, let alone first class, and that Erik was being hard done by. He sighs, then chucks his phone onto the bed, flopping down beside it. There's no use getting silly news articles like this get to his head, not when he knows the truth. And especially not when he has a jam-packed honeymoon schedule that's bursting at the seams just waiting to be explored. 

For Charles, it's not a holiday anywhere unless you spend at least one day sightseeing like a dorky tourist. For Erik, his day is filled by him valiantly trying to cover his face and attempting to look like he isn't affiliated with Charles who is practically leaping off of lamp posts in excitement, seeking out all sorts of little things as he goes. 

"Ampelmännchen!" he points and yells almost every time they cross the street, and Erik has to kiss him in the middle of the walkway just to get him to shut up because  _Christ_ , is he here on a honeymoon with his husband or his son? 

Luckily though, Erik doesn't need to worry about his little tourist for much longer as the skies darken, and the two return to their hotel to get dressed for a concert. Charles, still the ever-excitable little puppy, is proudly waving two tickets as he dances around the hotel room, gushing praises about the Berlin Philharmonic.

It's an open air concert, so a little chilly, and Charles impatiently winds two scarves tightly around Erik's neck before pushing him out the door, muttering about how there are no reserved seats and if they don't get in early they'll have to watch from the back with all the drunks. 

Erik doesn't particularly appreciate classical music; he's never had the time of day to sit down and listen to what he believes is slow and dreary crooning of violins. But he's pleasantly surprised to find an array of themes in the music, from classics that have the whole crowd humming along, to contemporary pieces that just sound like a bunch of noise that doesn't go together, to concertos that invite the hairs on his arms to stand up straight. 

When the encores have been encored out and the crowd disperses to their homes, Erik takes Charles' hand and swings it as they stroll at a leisurely place back to their hotel. 

And of course, some people just can't resist pocketing some gold, and when Charles wakes up the next morning, it's to seeing the Daily Mail covered in photos of him and Erik walking after the concert. 

Charles rolls his eyes. Like as if he needs another reason to hate Daily Mail.

-«•»-

The rest of the honeymoon passes in much of a blur, though it's a happy blur, which Charles is glad for. Knowing that all the work he put into planning their honeymoon isn't going to waste is a relief for him, and getting to watch Erik smile every day is something like a dream. 

After Berlin, the two spend a couple of days out in the countryside where Edie and Jakob grew up, and Charles can’t help but marvel at how peaceful it is out there; quiet, and perfect for nights of stargazing. Charles falls asleep one of those nights, and ends up being carried back to the cottage by Erik, who can't help but pat the fluffy hair atop Charles' hair before leaving him to rest. All the days on the honeymoon are spent like that — fleeting moments of affection when the other isn't aware, even when right out of sight from the public. 

The night before they leave is spent in Berlin once more. Charles treats Erik to the nicest place Google can find for him, otherwise known as Michelin star restaurant _Lorenz Adlon Esszimmer_. 

He orders a luxurious banquet that has their bellies fatter than a doctor's wallet, and just before their dessert arrives, Erik clears his throat. 

"I uh... have something for you?" Erik says, and presents Charles with a small velvet box in the most unromantic way possible, which is to say he looks more or less like a cave man brandishing his club, before pushing the box across the table towards Charles. He has never been one for grand gestures, and it's just as well they didn't get married on their own terms, because as far as God knows, Erik would have just shoved a ring on Charles' finger before tilting his head to say "yes or no?" by way of proposal, which is, of course, the _epitome_  of romantic. 

He struggles to keep his composure as the man before him simply stares down at the box with a cocked head. When Charles (finally) reaches over to open the box, there's a small gasp that sounds suspiciously like it's trying to hide a giggle, and the man says "you overpriced potato" with the biggest smile on his face, beckoning for Erik to put the necklace around his neck for him. 

Charles runs a finger over the inscription that reads _"that which is in possession of this ring may arrange their grandchild in marriage"_ , unable to keep the grin off of his face, even as he's eating dessert. 

——«•»——

The flight back home is First Class despite Erik's protests. Charles places a hand on his arm and looks him straight in the eye before telling him that usually, people who need to fly but don't enjoy it take First Class or Business Class so that they can calm their nerves in the comfort and luxury. Very rarely does anyone use Economy Class to cling to their neighbour. 

Annoyingly, Charles is right, and Erik squeezes in all sorts of little bottles of lotions and what not into his carry-on baggage to take home with him. 

He leaves the ghastly slippers behind though, because nothing beats the fluff balls that match his lampshade. 

(What?  _No._ Erik hasn't become attached to the weird room slippers back at home.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We'll be back as soon as we can.


	6. Your Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a celebration(?) of O-Week just starting, have another chapter update!! I have now officially finished writing the drafts of this story, but chapters will be rolling out slowly as they get edited.
> 
> Have a nice day!

It gets easier, to Charles’ relief. 

The honeymoon is a success, a triumph — a victory? 

The air in the townhouse is lighter, and more importantly breathable, without the weight of Erik's cold shoulder constantly pressing down on him. All of his efforts from the honeymoon have brought them to a comfortable position where they’re not quite at the stage to call each other friends, but they're friendly acquaintances, and it's much more than Charles could have hoped for. 

They spend their nights together, huddled in front of the ridiculous electric fireplace that's honestly much too excessive for Charles' taste (he did consider ripping it out of the wall, before reminding himself that although a ludicrous contraption it did do its job and he might need it for the winter). He likes the  easy simplicity of Erik's presence in his life. How nothing needs to be said, and they can just sit with each other in silent companionship for hours on end before their little fake fire.

It’s almost funny how their newfound companionship reminds Charles of Erik’s silent treatments before their honey moon, yet somehow this feels far from the cold atmosphere of that time.

Erik's silence has brought Charles the entire emotional palette, now that he thinks of it. He's cried over it, and now he revels in it, smiling down at his mug filled to the brim with tea ("you are so disgustingly British sometimes it revolts me that you call yourself an American citizen"). 

As they close another day together in front of the fire, not side by side, but at their own ends of the sofa, with their own books and in their own worlds, Charles takes a moment to reach a hand down to the chain around his neck, and to the ring dangling off it. He smiles softly to himself, and puts his book down to instead watch artificial flames lick nonexistent logs, content with his life. 

——«•»——

It's a week later that Charles and Erik find themselves wrapped up in plans for a double date. Hank, who apparently has been close to Charles since high school because of their similar interests, seems to be bouncing off the walls wanting to introduce his friend to his boyfriend. 

The boy's eyes are owlish behind his glasses, Erik notes, and his excitement is badly contained and expressed by wild gesticulation, although he is at least intelligible, so when Charles looks up at him with pleading puppy eyes, he shrugs and nods yes to the double date. 

Charles is apparently overjoyed with the outcome, jumping up out of his seat and squeezing Erik in a tight hug. Later he explains that in their sophomore year of high school Hank had a bad fallout with a senior who had taken a liking to him. More specifically, she made him feel special until the day before she graduated where she dumped him for his entrepreneurial, I-dropped-out-of-college-because-I-started-my-own-successful-business arsehole of a cousin.

Although through this story Erik thinks this girl can only sound like the devil reincarnated, Charles tells him they've since patched things up and are good friends to the point that Hank's in the middle of helping her choose a dress for her wedding with arsehole cousin. 

The girl's name is Raven, and Erik files it away  _just_ in case he meets her by accident and kind of sort of _accidentally_ punches her in the left boob.

(Only lightly though, that shit really hurts... or so he’s been told)

"He hadn't dated since Raven, and I was beginning to wonder if I should be worried, but clearly not if he's now at the stage to want me to meet his boyfriend! They've been together two months, did he say? I feel like this is the best news I've heard all week!"

Then Charles pouts, ever so slightly.

"I mean I'm a little sad he didn't mention anything until now but I suppose I have been making sure to do a lot of bragging about how great my marriage to you is to make up for the fact that he'd never heard of you until our marriage was all over the news... which would explain why he didn't have the chance to get a word in edgewise."

Erik thinks it's nice how Charles' eyes light up a certain way when he's talking about his friends. Like they're something special to him; like they all have their own designated space in his heart. For a brief moment, Erik wonders if he has a piece of Charles' heart with his name written on it too, but he shakes the thought away with a scowl. And it's not until Charles mentions all the talking he's been doing to his friends about their relationship that it occurs to him how much harder it is for Charles to cover up how suspicious and abrupt their marriage seems. 

He's met them all and they did  _seem_ convinced, but now that Erik looks back at it, the girl named Moira did look a little like she found Erik's entire existence just slightly incredulous. 

He hopes to God that "Hank's new boyfriend" isn't a ploy that Moira's sneakily set up to reveal the truth. He imagines walking to the diner they'd agreed on with Charles and finding the woman in an FBI jacket and a notepad, fixing her glasses before clearing her throat. 

"I'm looking forward to it," is what he says to Charles instead, reminding himself that Hank and Armadillo(?) have totally eaten up their lovey-dovey antics just like the rest of the public, and he's sure Moira has as well. 

(He's not sure, but right now all he has is hope.)

-«•»-

What's awaiting them at the diner isn't Moira in an FBI jacket, but nonetheless it's a familiar face that Erik isn't expecting. Or Charles, if the gasp that he hears on his right is any indication. 

"What happened to 'I'm too busy for relationships?'" Erik looks down dubiously at his friend who's snuggled up with Hank in the booth to the point that it almost looks like  they're glued together. Hank looks vaguely taken aback, especially seeing as his attempt at an introduction was snubbed and stepped all over, but Erik doesn't notice.

Instead of responding to Erik's question though, Alex has his own question for his boyfriend. 

"'Legendary Professor X' is just Charles? What the hell, man!"

Charles steps forward to try and take offence to Alex calling him 'just Charles' but Hank isn't in the mood to be cut off a second time today. 

"He's a man that the tabloids adore! I couldn't risk there being any way that our plans could be overheard," Hank explains, then huffs a little as he passes out menus to the other couple. 

The diner is quaint, but thankfully infinitely cleaner than most, without the stench of grease and mountains of gum stuck beneath the tables. Everything is covered in red gingham check, from the curtains to the tablecloths to the little aprons that the waiters wear, and even the word "MENU" is patterned in the same gingham. It's just as well this diner's floor isn't covered in the classic black and white chequerboard flooring because then that would be too many squares for one small restaurant. It would become somewhat of an optical allusion if it were, and Erik really doesn’t think he could handle that.

The four order hulking meals to talk over, but once the waitress is gone Alex warns them of their time limit. 

"We invited you out, so this meal's on us," Alex points a stern finger in Charles' direction, already anticipating the rebuttal. "But I still have my shift in two hours, and Hank accidentally dropped his wallet in the toilet this morning so I'll be paying, but that means that if any of you are slow eaters I am fisting your hearts out through your throats and throwing them in the fish tank over there. This isn't usually a problem when it's me and Hank because he eats like a beast-"

"Stop calling me a beast!"

"-so either you eat at the fast pace you always do, or you pick up the speed just for this meal, because if I'm almost late to a shift because of you two  _again_ , you will not see the sun go down today." 

Charles swallows audibly, his hand gripping Erik's in (mild, it's only mild) fear, then plasters a grin on his face. 

"Sounds great! Looks like our food's almost here," he points at the waitress coming over who seems to be struggling with the four large plates in her arms. "Shall we dig in?" 

(It's not a question. Charles is the first to take a large bite of his burger, his jaw giving a twitch of refusal at the amount of food that it's just been force fed, but there are sacrifices that need to be made when your life is on the line. He vaguely notices Erik leisurely pulling out his phone to snap a picture of his chip butty chipmunk cheeks.) 

> **_Charles' Xavier's Pro-Tips to not dying before you turn thirty #085:_ ** _A chip butty is an effective way to eat your burger and chips faster! Put them chips into yo' damn burger and no man named Alex will ever be able to strangle you!_

-«•»-

There's another surprise couple on the walk home, and this time it's Erik's turn to look taken aback when he finds Emma and Azazel hand in hand as they walk out of Gucci. Or Prada. Or Tiffany? Or Chanel. Erik doesn't know - he's not paying attention to the exact store they walk out of, he just notices the piles of shopping bags dangling between his two friends. 

"Now Azazel, if you ever find yourself homeless on the street, please know that our door is always open," Charles chuckles at the sight. He's definitely taken this new bit of information better than Erik has.

They chat for a while, and the two reveal that the relationship is new, something that started last weekend on a whim, and that they weren't really in a position to be putting any labels on it as of yet, but it felt comfortable and they were close enough as friends that if it didn't work out there were no hard feelings.

"Don't get me wrong, darling," Emma drawls with her signature smirk. "There ain't nothing wrong with being single. I adore it! It's a wonderful life. But if every now and again someone else will buy you your designer bags and clothes... it's not such a bad life." 

Charles laughs along, and this time so does Erik. In the middle of this high end street where they were supposed to be just quickly walking through to get home, feeling infinitely underdressed, Erik shuffles a little on his feet. His brain's thawed out from the shock of now seeing all three of his closest friends in relationships in one day, but there's something about it that makes him feel unsettled.

Here are all his friends, smiling, laughing, happy in their relationships and then there's Erik, hiding behind this thick façade of lies and hoping to God that people don't peak through the cracks and realise that he's a phoney. He grabs Charles' hand and forcefully twines it with his own as if to say  _"Yes! This is a thing of love because we are in love!!! Yes! Charles and Erik are in love! In the love!!!! Very much so!"_  except he hopes the action is more convincing than the weird, disjointed monologue his mind gives him.

-«•»-

When they do return home after what Charles thinks has been a splendid day of fun, he closes his eyes for a moment, only to open them and find that something in the air is eerily familiar and vehemently unwelcome. He sighs quietly to himself, and walks into the kitchen for a glass of water before heading into his own bedroom. 

Once he settles onto his bed, it hits him once more, but this time like a brick.

_Erik is distant again._

Charles tries to tell himself that he's just overreacting, and that Erik is simply tired because it was a big day. But Charles knows - he  _knows_ that this is just wishful thinking, and quite frankly idiotic. It doesn't stop himself from imagining an alternate universe where the reason Erik is back to being cold is because he was unexpectedly faced with so many people he knew. It was a day he wasn't quite prepared for. 

But...

He has become rather good at reading the atmosphere, and this atmosphere right here, the one that surrounds him at this very moment, he knows it so well that he can almost forget the fact that he's been living without it for weeks. It's that same old aching feeling from before the honeymoon that resurfaces and sets up shop in his heart. 

Charles makes Erik a hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and leaves it at the man's door before going to bed, wishing that he could be the person that Erik could share his problems with when he was feeling troubled. 

But again, that's more wishful thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armadillo "Call-me-Darwin" Muñoz would like to say that he's a little offended Erik didn't remember his name.


	7. Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, I actually bring you an update! Thank you so much for your patience, we hope this was worth the wait! At the end of this chapter is a message from my beta. Please love her!

Erik's day is unbelievably busy. He honestly doesn't know what he was thinking when he told himself he could cram everything in the one day, but procrastinating had just seemed so appealing yesterday, he couldn’t help himself. Although he’s currently regretting his day off, he knows he needed the well-deserved rest, even if it's caused double the stress today. His schedule for today runs through his mind again; two lectures in the morning, picking up the files from his internship at the surgery for ahell that he'll worry about when he gets home at night, his tutorial and finally his double shift at work. 

As he runs fromsaid tutorial (read: torture) straight tohis double shift, he wonders if there's a way to relax and still be productive — a question he knows will never be answered, in the same way that he will never know how Einstein developed the entire theory of general relativity seemingly out of thin air.  

With his coat trailing behind him, Erik just manages to make it to work only 38 seconds late. It's not bad per se, but it is unfortunately the latest he's ever been to work. He's not Alex though, so while he does feel stressed, he at least can bask in the comfort that he's not going to be fired just for being less than a minute late. 

——«•»——

When Erik finally returns home hours later, his coat almost misses the hook as he stumbles past the coat rack in the entrance hall, exhausted. It's been a big day, and Erik can't bring himself to put his shoes away neatly as he toes out of them on his walk through the living room. 

The house is eerily quiet, even more so than usual, and slowly peeking into Charles' room tells Erik the other man isn't home. The bed is made and looks like it hasn't been touched since the morning, and none of Charles' belongings are anywhere to be seen either. Confused, he reaches for his phone, only to realise he's had it turned off the whole day. It's unusual for Charles to not be home by now, and Erik doesn't care that they don't speak at home, his husband should at least have the decency to say when he's going to be out late, lest Erik actually  _worry_  over him. 

Erik pours himself a glass of orange juice while he waits for his phone to reboot, and is three quarters through his glass when he quite talentedly manages to slop half of its remaining  contents onto the table, startled by its loud ringing. 

Reaching for a dish cloth to try and mop up his mess, he answers the phone to hear a very irate Alex Summers on the other end of the line. 

"Christ Erik, it's okay, I don't mind the fact that you took six hours to answer your Goddamn phone," his friend's voice comes roaring through. 

Erik has no idea what Alex is talking about. The man usually hates using his phone, and he knows he hasn't forgotten anything like a meeting, so right now it seems unreasonable for the blond to be yelling at him. "I don't-" he tries to say, but Alex is angry, which means that it's no use for him to try and get a word in edge wise. 

"Where  _are_ you? Is this not your husband lying unconscious in the hospital in front of me, or are you not Erik Lehnsherr?"

-«•»-

There are more than a thousand — no scratch that, more than a million — thoughts running through Erik's mind as he drops everything (literally everything, he almost breaks his phone by dropping it into a puddle of orange juice) and runs for the hospital that Alex told him Charles was in. He scrambles for the shoes he'd lazily left lying in the living room and doesn't even putting his arms through the sleeves of his coat when he makes his way out into the cold bite of winter. 

"Well Charles, if you wanted me to be at the hospital you should've told me you'd get knocked out at school today!", he mutters to himself in what he would feel is probably a slightly deranged manner if he wasn't too panicked over his husband's state to even think straight, much less appreciate his own sense of humour. 

The story is so stupid, Charles was running late for his lecture so he was sprinting across the sports field (a dangerous shortcut only for the daring) when he was knocked out cold by a stray - and get this - a stray  _fucking _quaffle__ , because apparently Charles isn't the only nerd in town and there are students who quite legitimately play Quidditch as a competitive sport at the prestigious University he attends. 

 _Prestigious my arse_ , Erik scoffs. He's in no mood to be calling a University prestigious when it's "oh so kind enough" to knock out his precious husband.

Erik can't remember the last time he visited a hospital, and while he's thankful for the good health that's blessed him and his family, he's wishing right about now that someone was sick enough to have to go to the hospital in the last ten years, because he has no idea where he is and the streets are deserted. 

Or maybe he can’t seem to see anyone around because the street he's in looks suspiciously like a sleazy alleyway where people come by for their drug fix’s... 

He hates to think that he'd ever be in need of the assistance of an app as disgustingly  _ugh_  as Google maps (Erik doesn't even have a word for it he's so repulsed), but soon enough he has a female voice telling him to "walk East for 400 metres then turn right onto  _Evehrgroon_ avenue", followed by "turn left in 100 metres and right in 200 metres", only to be met with the dreaded "recalculating route...". 

He wants to blame the terrible pronunciation of the lady directing him, but as he circles back around to "Evehrgroon avenue" for the third time, he's starting to think it's his own fault. 

Erik is two seconds away from wishing his phone had fallen into his orange juice and broken, when Google maps screams (at least to his ears) "you have reached your destination on the right!" effectively startling an elderly lady into dropping her walking stick as she makes her way out of the sliding doors of the hospital. 

He would very much like to say to Google maps "thanks for nothing", but there's a niggling in the back of his mind that tells him he wouldn't have reached this location without it, so he refrains himself from speaking to his phone and looking more like a deranged person than he probably already does. With resent, he shoves his phone into the back pocket of his slacks. 

-«•»-

Charles is just starting to stir when Erik finds his room, lungs burning and breaths coming short from basically rushing up the moment the receptionist gave him the room number. He's faced with Hank, Armadillo and Moira, who all give him small smiles.

"Darwin, shuffle over for Erik," Moira tells the man Erik has been internally calling Armadillo since the day they met (how could he get the name so wrong?), and steps into the space beside Charles' bed that's been made for him, but not before being punched hard in the stomach by Alex. 

"M'phone was off," he mumbles to the side, and it's strange how his first reaction to finding Charles in a hospital bed is to immediately reach for his hand so he can twine their fingers together like as if he's in some sappy romance comedy. He's relieved to see that the accident wasn't too severe and that Charles is only left with some bruising that looks worse than the injury actually is. Still, he can't help flicking the man's nose lightly and reprimanding him in a whisper that he hopeshis friends don't hear. 

It's only moments laterthatCharles' eyes flutter open, and he smiles at Erik, giving his hand a very light squeeze before noticing his friends surrounding his bed as well. He's vaguely aware of the events of the day asan idea sparks in his mind and, being presented with what he hopes is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, he opens his mouth for a joke he knows will be well-received. 

"Who are you?" Charles asks Hank, and there's a still silence that settles over the room for half a second before all three of Charles' friends burst out into laughter. 

"Who are you?" Hank asks back. Erik's head snaps up and he catches Alex's eye. Should they not be worried that Charles has seemingly lost his memory?

"Who are  _you_?", Moira says, and to any respectable theatre nerd that would be enough of a cue for the next line, but no, Erik's not a theatre nerd, much less a respectable one, and he can't help but jump back in surprise when Charles' room is suddenly filled with screams of "Ooh who is this kid, what's he gonna do?" 

Erik's glad he's not the only one who didn't understand the reference, and appreciates Alex presence for it, but he does allow himself to get a little red-faced accusing the four people of wanting Erik to get himself killed.  _Death by musical reference._ It would look nice on his headstone in the graveyard, wouldn't it? Congratulations Lin Manuel-Miranda, you've done killed a man with your damn musical. 

"Armadildo, you arsehole, could've warned us Charles didn't actually have amnesia," Erik growls pointedly at Darwin with Alex. 

Charles earns a bruising punch to his arm as punishment, and it goes without an apology because Erik's "don't you dare do that to me again" is said so fiercely that Charles has half the mind to forget that this man constantly ignores him at home and actually feel like he cares. In that moment, it doesn't even occur to him that this could be an act, so he just chuckles and uses his non-bruised arm to grasp at Erik's collar before pulling him down for a kiss. 

He thinks he hears Moira gag in the background, and he may have been right, considering when they part Charles finds that Moira's left the room, apparently to get everyone shitty instant coffee, never mind that it's no time of the night to be consuming caffeine if any of them want to be human tomorrow. 

-«•»-

The house is yet again more or less silent, but Charles thinks it's alright, because this time he knows that Erik's not talking to him because he's sulking about his small mishap at the hospital. 

Charles has honestly tried his best to comfort Erik, but he knows for a fact that under the man's bed there is a voodoo doll of Lin Manuel-Miranda. 

"Erik, please," he tries again, but all Erik does is place a hand firmly over Charles' mouth before pulling the covers of his bed up even higher so that it's tucked right under his chin. 

"Get some damn rest," Erik says gruffly. "I'll wake you up for your medicine in 2 hours." 

Charles is sure he can hear the soundtrack of  _Hamilton_  playing from Erik's room after the man's left, but then and again when isn't that musical playing through Charles' mind? Behind his door though (his very tightly closed door), Erik is studying ever word uttered by the original broadway cast, prepared for any reference that might pop up, just in case it happens again and next time he actually faints. 

When he reaches the song "Cabinet Battle #2", he's thoroughly disappointed he didn't know of this musical earlier, because "You must be out of your Goddamn mind!" would have been a great line to yell at Charles for his terribly-timed joke. Honestly, at this rate, if Charles is ever unconscious again, how is Erik going to know if his husband has actually lost his memory? 

And if, at the end of it all, you catch Erik preparing chicken noodle soup for Charles in the kitchen while singing his own powerful rendition of "The Schuyler Sisters" well... let it be known that Erik really  _really_ dislikes Lin Manuel-Miranda and his stupid catchy musical. 

In fact, dislike is too weak of a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,   
>  To begin, I AM SO SORRY!!!! I know that you have probably all been waiting for the next update for what seems like years now and are about ready to tear your hair out or just lay down and cry for a while as I am told you do when your favourite fic is not updated in FOREVER. Please let it be known that I am so incredibly sorry for keeping you waiting all this time and that my dearest wife musicanova is in no way to blame for this long loooong wait. 
> 
> To be honest I’m a pretty pedantic person and I’m also incredible forgetful and sort of busy, which is why it takes such a long time for me to churn these chapters out. I KNOW, I’m a horrible beta, who is way too lazy to actually be any good at this, but I promised musicanova that I would beta this fic and I swear to god I’m going to finish it if it’s the last thing I do. 
> 
> In fact, she has actually had this entire fic finished for ages now and any waiting that is to come is entirely my fault. She is an amazing author and her stories are incredible so pleeeeeease don’t give up on her, trust me she will never abandon a fic.   
> Lots of love your useless beta xo


	8. Wanna Cry for Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy first of May! Here's another update? Please don't kill me.

Erik doesn't remember blankets being this heavy. It may still be the tail end of winter, but even at -10 degrees he has no memory of blankets weighing quite as much as this. The last time he woke up feeling like this was when he had been dragged into dog sitting for his cousin who had unceremoniously dumped a 35 kilogram Beauceron into his lap before bounding off on a holiday in Genosha, wherever the hell that was.

Now whatever is on him right now isn't quite as heavy as "Bella the Beauceron", who had assumed its bed on Erik's chest and nowhere else during her stay, but if he doesn't get the thing off him anytime soon he feels like he'll be needing an asthma puffer. 

He cracks an eye open, a millimetre per second, before he spots his problem at hand. 

Charles' head is pillowed right above Erik's heart, arm casually slung over his torso and left knee dangerously close to Erik's nether region as he sleeps peacefully on his stomach. 

It occurs to Erik that he seems to have fallen asleep in Charles' room after making sure the man took his medication last night, although he explicitly recalls having been seated in the chair  _beside_  Charles' bed, not being inside it. 

He looks over to the window where the slight chink in the curtains allows a sliver of sunlight to spill onto the floor, enhancing the grains of the wood to reveal a river-like pattern. Erik lets his mind wander from the word "chink", imagining the curtain being Chinese, and hears a thick accent in his ear telling him to "pull me back, my body is scorching under the sun here!", before pushing the thought away with disgust. First of all, he's not a Disney princess, so inanimate objects don't speak. Second of all, "Chink" is a terrible derogatory term that shouldn't be used to refer to Chinese people, and third of all, he has more pressing matters to attend to. 

 _Literally_ pressing. Charles' elbow is beginning to dig into Erik's rib cage in an uncomfortable manner. 

Erik studies the sleeping form before him, and after reaching the conclusion that his husband is so deep in sleep that nothing would be able to disturb him, he very slowly lifts Charles' head off his chest and onto the pillow, untangling himself from the man's arms. The man snuffles a little, and Erik reaches for a spare cushion to put into Charles' now empty arms before closing the gap in between the curtains and backing away from the bedroom, socked feet shuffling against the wood. 

He thinks he hears Charles whine a little as he closes the door, but he chalks it up to a creak in the floorboards as he retreats to his own room. 

When he's in the privacy of his own room, Erik sits heavily on the floor, legs crossed with his head in his hands. 

After about ten minutes it dawns on him that he's dug himself a little bit of a hole, so he reaches for his phone. Doctor Professor Google is no help for this, he thinks, as he stares at the search bar with nothing to type in. For a moment he contemplates confiding in Emma, before he laughs at himself for his stupidity. Going to Emma for anything is always a terrible idea, and a problem like this is something that he knows she'll laugh at for five hours before deciding to offer any help.

But Erik needs someone who will listen. 

He's almost desperate enough to find the closest church to him for a confession booth (Do all churches have confession booths? Is that what they're called? - Now those are questions he's able to ask Google), but the risk of being caught and his secrets being all over the front page of every news paper, magazine and website is enough to put him off that idea. 

The list of people he knows he can trust is dwindling, starting with Charles, whom he certainly can't confess to, skipping over Alex who is capable of doing anything if he's angry enough (if his spilling their honeymoon details wasn't a sign), crossing out Azazel who is never any help even if he is competent in the topic, and ending with good old Frost whom Erik has already scratched off the list with much haste. And while Charles' friends seem like a trustworthy bunch, he's not about to have a heart-to-heart with Alex's boyfriend, a possible FBI agent and an Armadillo.  

_How do you find a person trustworthy enough to tell a big secret in the space of two minutes?_

Google tells him: "People judge how trustworthy you are within half a SECOND - Daily Mail", and he scowls. 

It has nothing to do with what he wants, and he's still holding a grudge against Daily Mail from the honeymoon. 

So how  _do_  you find a person trustworthy enough to tell a big secret in the space of two minutes? 

His mind tells him: "Your mother", and his scowl deepens. 

Mama is sweet, pure, spun from sugar and white, fluffy clouds, and adorned with flecks of gold leaf that surround her thinning hair in a halo. She doesn't deserve to be dragged into this mess he's made for himself. To be perfectly honest Erik would be willing to bet his left kidney that she is still well under the impression that he and Charles are leading a happy, peaceful married life.

 _If only_ , Erik thinks. 

If only he hadn't been a dick; if only he could just tell Charles that this wasn't an act for him; if only he weren't a coward. 

_What do you do when you've been a total shitburger to someone you love?_

More questions that Google doesn't have the answer to.

More scowls that harden the lines on Erik's face.

He closes the tab with a huff, and never seems to notice that he's admitted to himself that he's in love with the little puppy he had been so passionately trying to hate.

-«•»-

"I can't tell him enough times how sorry I am. And the worst part is, I haven't even said the words to him once. He's too good for me, I can't stand being around him. All he does is exist, and it's like the heavens open up for him to shine a little spotlight on him. Do you even understand how many times I've hurt him? I've lost count by now! And yet every single f-- freaking time he's still there for me at the end of the day." 

Erik heaves a sigh. That was close — as if having to confess this isn't bad enough, he almost swore in front of his mother. 

Although Erik has always been the kind of person who prefers the quiet, the room is much too silent for his liking, and his palms are beginning to sweat. He's been blurting out a jumble of words for about twenty minutes now if the clock on the wall is right, and he kind of wants a response. Literally anything. At this point he's even willing to be screamed at for being such an insensitive prick, so long as it's not silence. 

Still, the clock ticks on and the wind rustles the leaves of his mother's roses, and the birds, though few, call out to their friends. 

"I don't know what to say, Erik," his mother starts, after what feels like forever. "I could never have guessed this was what was going on! We know you came to us to explain how you'd be acting for the public but I- we really-" 

She's really at a loss for words, and Erik puts a hand on her knee, telling her she can speak in German if she needs to. 

"I don't have words in any language, my dear," she laughs softly, but switches to her mother tongue all the same.

, she wipes away Erik's tears — he hadn't even realised he had been crying — and sets out on her quest to help her  ~~hopeless~~  son. 

"You know you've made a mistake, and you've accepted that. That's the first step," Edie tells him. "Now we just need to patch things up so that you be as happy as the world thinks you are." 

She says it so simply that Erik is almost fooled into thinking that it won't take much work; but only for half a second. He's screwed up bad enough that this could take months, but he desperately needs to start now. He thinks about what he can do for the man. First of all, he'll need to stop ignoring him in the house. But past that, he's a little stumped. If he takes him out for dinner, Charles will just assume that Erik is back to the act, so it means that for him to start picking up puzzle pieces and fitting them together, they'll need to be at home. 

He supposes he could cook for the two of them, although he's now rusty from laziness and it will take him a whole two days just to figure out where everything in the kitchen is, because he's never even touched a KitchenAid in his life and yet they have two in one of the cupboards, there's a juice blender but also a bullet blender and a stick blender too? And don't even get him started on the intimidating number of Le Creuset cookware of which Erik could only afford to own one cast iron skillet in a discontinued colour back when he had his own apartment, while the house he lives in now boasts a 20+ set all in the same signature cerise red. 

"All you need to do is sit down over a nice cup of hot tea and talk it out," his mother says cheerfully, and Erik feels like crying again. 

While he's glad she doesn't think he'll need to be brushing up on his cooking skills again, she must know by now that her son isn't exactly one for words. Or human interaction, for that matter. It's actually a miracle that he even has one friend, because back in primary school he only had air and lego to play with. 

"Go and buy him a nice bunch of flowers if you're so worried!" she suggests next, but with the number of different messages Erik wants to send Charles, how is he going to make the bouquet not look ghastly? You can't possibly have purple, pink, red, blue and yellow all wrapped up together, but is there any other way of spelling out how sorry he is? And what if all the florists in town don't have the flowers he needs?

Red roses are a given, and anywhere would have those, but what about the four different types of camellias he needs? And the carnations and the tulips and the... since when does he know the language of flowers? 

"Mama, I need to go right now." 

Erik takes a biscuit for the road and dashes out of his mother's house with a quick hug and a thank you, his phone in his hand and at the ready to search for the most respectable florist he can find. Erik won't settle for a bouquet that looks like vomit, he needs it to be perfect and he needs it ASAP.

Charles deserves the world, and Erik needs to Goddamn show him that, damn it. 

It takes him an hour and a half, but Erik does find a place that will make him just the bouquet he's hoping for, and he pays the florist a generous amount for their efforts. He marches home with determination, careful not to squash the flowers in his arms. He finds a smile snaking its way onto his face as he's walking, wondering if Charles is feeling any better. He hopes the man has at least gotten out of bed to stretch his legs a little today, because it's unhealthy to be holed up in one room for too long, no matter how grand the room may be. 

But about six blocks away from their townhouse Erik slows down, and the smile slowly crawls its way out of his features and he's left standing beside a bin, hands trembling around a bouquet of flowers that will never be enough for Charles. 

Before he knows what he's doing, the flowers are in the bin and he's at home setting a glass of water and two pills beside Charles' sleeping form and locking himself back in his bedroom.

——«•»——

"Erik." 

He hears a voice call out from behind him, where he sits at the dining room table  munching on his breakfast. He glances up just in time to see a phone being thrust before his face. 

"Looks like there's something you need to tell me." 

Erik looks down to find photographs of him holding the flowers he so vividly remembers throwing into a bin out of cowardice. But before he can start doing any explaining, Charles' mouth is open. 

"How could you be doing this? We're married! We had an agreement that we would make the public think we were in love! And now you have a secret partner? Who is it? A girlfriend? Boyfriend? I'm your husband! I deserve to know these things! I could have helped you but no, instead you go around sneaking around with them like this? God, you never talk to me! How long has this been going on? Did I strip you from this person by forcing you to marry me? You should have said something we could've worked it out!" 

The words don't stop coming out, and Erik wants so badly to put a finger to them and tell him the truth, but he's too scared. 

"I can't be mad at you! I can't! You were pushed into this marriage, and now I've ruined a relationship for you that you've been running around underground trying to hold onto. Christ, I feel terrible! You absolute  _muppet_ couldn't you have just told your parents you were already taken? Now look what I've made you do!" 

He's so wrong; Charles is so  _wrong_ , but somehow Erik can't seem find his voice to say that there isn't anyone, there's only Charles. He can't even get his mouth to move. 

In his head, he says everything.

_Those flowers were for you. There is no one else. There never has been anyone else. I know I've been terrible to you, but I want to start making it up to you. I've just been so confused. I've never really had interest in dating anyone before._

When he looks up from his bowl of now soggy cereal, Charles is long gone. 


	9. Every Day (Every Night)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys, I'm so sorry for the late update! The first semester of uni is over, and my beta's finally had some time to relax, so in celebration of a whopping 154 kudos (ok so maybe that's not a big number for some of y'all hotshot writers out there but this is a milestone for me) we've come back with the second last chapter of the story! 
> 
> I do promise that this is not quite the cliffhanger the last one left you in. Please enjoy!

Charles wakes up determined. 

He doesn't know what took him so long to figure it out, but enough is enough. It was a mission bound to fail in the first place, and when he looks back at the past few months, he thinks it would've been much easier if he'd just told his mother "I'm sorry, but I have a crush on someone right now and I had just planned to ask them out tonight, so I won't be able to fulfil Grandpapa's wish just as yet." Then, he wouldn't have had to get married, it would've been an excuse for him to finally pick his arse up and ask the damn kid in his lecture out, and his mother would have been appeased because he didn't say no, he would have merely postponed the whole ordeal. 

Instead, here he is, stuck in a marriage and finding himself in love with a man who he knows doesn't even want to look at him, and, as of the day before, seems to actually have a girlfriend. 

Well, maybe it's not a girlfriend, but by this point Charles does know Erik, and he can't imagine the ginger ever buying such an extravagant bouquet for any man. He's more of a... clichéd-single-rose-because-what-are-emotions-and-how-do-I-communicate-them kind of guy.

In any case, he knows what needs to be done, and he's going to do it this morning. 

-«•»-

_I'm doing him a favour. I'm doing Erik a favour. It's going to be okay, this is a good thing. You're doing the right thing._

Despite being so determined, Charles needs a lot of convincing from his own brain and copious amounts of oxygen to his lungs before he's able to make it down the stairs and to the kitchen. Everything feels smaller all of a sudden, from the collar of his shirt, to his room, to the necklace hanging around his neck. All of it seems to suffocate him, closing in inch by inch. Eventually the invisible pressure of it all becomes too much for Charles and he sprints onto the staircase before he can talk himself out of anything. 

"Erik?" Charles says. He's tentative, considering the fit he threw at breakfast yesterday, and if the way his husband flinches tells him anything, his tantrum is definitely still fresh in Erik's mind. 

"I was doing some thinking last night, and I uh, I have something I need to say." 

'Last night' was one hell of an understatement, and it was more like his mind was consumed by these thoughts for an entire day, but Erik didn't need to know these sorts of things, not with what Charles was about to say next. 

"Let's stop this. We can't keep going on, how long did we think this was going to last? The media eats up our play, and then immediately comes back for more. We could be going at this for years before they start to back off. If you have someone, I can't be the one holding you back from them." 

Charles studies Erik's face, the small tics that give way to his true emotions, which he’d learned to read over the past few months of forced matrimony. He thought he had mostly figured out what Erik’s seemingly blank expressions meant and yet he finds himself wondering what it means when Erik's eyes look a little glassy. It's not an expression he's seen before. Although he's still by no means an expert in reading the man, he's a couple chapters into learning how. There's a crease between Erik's eyebrows, and they slant a little from the middle. That's something Charles can read, and he recognises it as confusion. 

"Erik," he prods with his voice. "I'm saying I think we should file for a divorce." 

Charles smiles, a very small smile that barely lifts the corners of his mouth, and somehow finds that his next words are watery. 

"I can't keep doing this to you."

He stands up, chair dragging across the ground, and slinks back to his bedroom. From the moment he turns his back to Erik, tears begin to roll down his face, but he doesn't have the energy to wipe them away. Instead, he flops down onto his bed face first and allows his blankets to soak up his mess, one hand grappling with his phone that should be somewhere under his pillow as he speed-dials Moira for an emergency heart to heart. 

"Moira," he whimpers into his phone. "Please, I need you." 

It hurts more than he thought it would, letting go. He has to move his face because the patch of blanket beneath him is now so wet it's uncomfortable to be lying on. He didn't think it would be this hard, really. It's like- it's like he never really realised how far gone on Erik he was until now. 

Charles has always had terrible timing. He just wishes that that wasn't the case this time.

"If only..." he starts to say to himself. The two words have so many branches sprouting from them that he doesn't know how to finish the sentence. If only he hadn't fallen in love, if only he'd met Erik while he wasn't in a relationship, if only...

If only Charles had known those were the two words Erik was saying to himself just days ago before he'd bought the bouquet. 

 

"If only," God sighs with a heavy breath, "these two would pull their heads out of their arses and realise they were in love with each other. I stopped the whole cupid thing centuries ago, they had terrible aim and it always ended in a mess, but Oh my Me! I'm almost tempted to call them back to work because these two idiots really need some help." 

And while we should thank God for his concern for Charles and Erik's love life, could someone please remind him that he has other far more pressing duties to attend to, such as the state of turmoil the world is currently in? Please and thank you. 

——«•»——

Erik is left frozen at the dining table. His coffee is too cold for him to even fathom putting his lips to it, so he remains seated, glaring at the spot of leaked pen ink that won't come off on the table. If he's to be honest to himself, he feels a little like crying. It seems like they had both felt today a good day to be confessing things, but what Erik had been planning was entirely different. 

It's too late now, though. It's too late to be asking Charles out on a date, not after he's said it's time to file for a divorce. 

He wonders how everything went so wrong, but only for a second, because the answer comes to him a lot faster than he'd have liked it to. Of course, he is well aware that the majority of this mess is his fault. From being harsh and cold, to chickening out on giving Charles the bouquet of flowers, every problem that's arisen in their relationship seems to stem from him and his stupidity. 

_How can I be smart enough to be studying to become a maxillofacial surgeon, and yet at the same time be stupid enough to let this relationship turn to shit?_

Great. More questions he can't ask Google. And he's not going back to his mother, not after all she'd done to try and help him. He can't possibly turn up back at her door and weep about how he had been to scared and how that had made everything worse. When he had thrown them into the bin out of cowardice he couldn't have known that the media would have evidence that he had those flowers in his hands, but if he had known something like this would have happened (and he should have) he would have tried so much harder — he would have at least made it home before letting his nerves get the best of him and chucking the bouquet into the rubbish bin.

 _"KEEPING THE ROMANCE ALIVE"_  the article had said.  _"Erik Lehnsherr was spotted late yesterday afternoon with an impressive bouquet of flowers, clearly heading home to his beloved husband. We've interviewed internationally-renowned florist Wanda Maximoff to find out the meaning behind this beautiful arrangement!"_

Miss Maximoff went on to analyse the flowers in the article, then concluding that the bouquet must have been put together for looks and not for meaning because clearly, Erik and Charles were so in love that there's no way that Erik would be needing to apologise in so many different ways; there's no way that Erik's needing to express his secret admiration for his husband. 

Erik is just about to get up to pour his cold coffee down the drain when he hears a knock at the door. He shuffles over quickly, not expecting a visitor, and opens the door to find none other than Moira MacTaggert at his doorstep. 

"Uh, Moira? Did Charles call you? He's in his room right now I'll show you the way." 

Moira smiles and nods her thanks, but right before they reach the stairs she asks if she can use the bathroom, and if Erik can alert Charles that she's here and won't be a moment. 

Erik hesitates, knowing how their conversation had ended, but says yes anyway, since the woman before him has her legs crossed in front of each other and is squirming in front of him waiting for his response. He points out the direction of the bathroom then heads over to Charles' bedroom, knocking twice on the door. 

"Oh Moira," comes Charles' muffled voice from amongst the bedsheets. "You have no idea what I've done. I should tell you out right and cold; Erik and I are... we're not the happy married couple we've led you to believe we are. It was a stupid arrangement between our grandparents when they were younger, and you know how much I love my Grandpapa, I just couldn't say no. And it's the biggest mistake I've ever made!" 

Erik thinks now is about the time that he should tell Charles he's not Moira before things start to get awkward, but he can't even begin his sentence before his husband is back to rambling. He doesn't miss a single detail from start to finish, all the while sobbing into his blankets.

From behind him, Moira stands with her mouth agape, having faked her need to use the restroom in an attempt to force them to talk things through with each other. Now she knows they need this talk more than she could have imagined. 

"I don't know what to do, Moira! We can't even be friends, he won't let me! And just yesterday I find out he's got a secret lover he's been hiding from me? What am I supposed to do about that? I've forced him to marry me while he was in a relationship! And you know what's worse? Because yes, this story gets worse, I'm in love with him. And it really hurts, because you and I both know this isn't going to happen now, is it? Wow! I'm an idiot!" 

There's a sharp, bitter laugh followed by silence, before Charles pokes his head up. 

"You know usually you've either got an idea to help me or you have your hand on my mouth to tell me to shut up because I'm talking too fast by now." 

And that's when he notices that it's not Moira standing at his door, but Erik, with his hands in his pockets and looking a little worse for wear. His hair is a little disheveled, his sleeves rolled up his arms at different lengths, and his eyes can't seem to stay focused on one object. But then Charles sees familiar long brown locks in the gap between Erik's torso and arm, and he knows he's been set up. 

"Mo-!" he begins to yell, but not before his  ~~former~~  friend slams the door shut behind Erik, who startles at the sound and flails a little, catching himself right before he falls to the ground. 

They hear the sound of chair legs scraping against the floor, and when Erik gives a frantic attempt at turning the handle, the door won't open. 

Erik turns around on his heel slowly, inching his way forward to Charles' bedside before sitting on the ground next to where Charles lies. 

"Listen, I think we need to clean the slate here," Erik says. "There are some things I need to tell you, and it kind of looks like you need to tell me something too." 

Charles' face deems it a good time to start blushing, his cheeks reddening as he tries to find a patch of his blanket that isn't wet with his tears to burrow into. 

"We've uh... reached a bit of a misunderstanding, I think," Erik continues. "I've been absolutely terrible with you and I completely understand if you need time to forgive me, or if you can't forgive me at all but I'm a lot more of a coward than I look. I guess you could say I've never  _really_ been in a relationship? I can't say that I've ever been in something as serious as a relationship that didn't end in shambles by week two or being cheated on or... other various things, much less a marriage."

Erik notices Charles is about to say something, so he pushes his husband's face back into the blankets with a smile and continues on.

"I know we didn't start this on good terms but I want you to know that it didn't take me time to figure out I liked you. I could easily see us being friends. In fact I didn't even become friendly with Alex or Azazel or Emma as quickly as I did with you. It was so foreign to me, and as you've experienced first hand, it caused me to push you away the moment we were out of the public eye."

He lets go of Charles' head so that he can resurface to breathe. 

"It doesn't really end at that, though. Somewhere along the line, it appears to me that I may or may not have fallen in love with you. Believe me, I'm still confused too, but it's a thing that's happened and I was in fact hoping to ask you on a date tonight before you told me that we should file for a divorce," Erik laughs. Then, to respond to Charles' question about his secret girlfriend-boyfriend-person-lover, he ruffles his husband's hair and pulls him to the edge of the bed so that the man can see his face when he replies. 

"That bouquet, young sir," Erik smirks up from the ground, "was for you." 

Charles allows his eyes to widen a fraction before he blinks owlishly twice, then cocks his head to the side. He crawls out of bed and onto the ground, but gets stuck amongst his blankets and falls heavily into Erik's lap, dragging his doona down over his head as he falls. 

"I think I might have made a mistake," he mumbles, unsure of where to look until Erik lifts the blankets off of him and throws them back onto the bed. 

"As have I," says Erik, with a smile as soft as fairy floss on his face; one that Charles has never seen, not even in public. "But I think I know how we can make it up to each other." 

Erik positions Charles comfortably in his lap, hands around his waist, before leaning in to slot their lips together. Their noses bump ever so slightly on the way, and Erik curses his damn tall German nose for getting in the way. Honestly, he would never understand the way his Japanese exchange student had practically bowed down before his "beautiful nose" back in high school. There's nothing beautiful about having a big nose that likes to get in the way of him trying to be romantic, after all. 

He takes his hands from Charles' waist to wipe them on his trousers a little before wrapping them around his husband to pull him closer, tentatively sinking his teeth into Charles' bottom lip. He hears the other's breath catch in his throat, and chooses to soothe his bite with a swipe of his tongue before pulling away, because as much as he wants to keep going, as nice as this all is, he feels like they still need to talk some things out — he hasn't done even half the apologising he wants to.  

But as he begins to draw his face back, Charles groans, his hands coming up around Erik's neck and tugging him back in. 

"I don't think that kiss was good enough to make up for the mistakes we've made," he whispers into Erik's mouth. 

"Is that a subtle way to tell me I really screwed up?" Erik chuckles back. 

"Or it could be a subtle and  _very_  good excuse to get you to kiss me again, but you get to decide." 

Moira gulps, feeling like she's heard a little too much for her liking, and shoots a quick smiley face text to Charles before carefully removing the chair lodged under the door handle and tip-toeing her way out of the house. While she's happy for her friend, she maybe could have done without hearing the sound their lips made when they parted.  _Oh well_ , she thinks.  _I guess it's my fault for sticking around to eavesdrop for too long_. 

She makes sure that the door to the townhouse is locked as she steps out, and purses her lips in thought before letting a devious smile take over her face. She takes her phone out and texts " _don't forget to use protection! <3_", unable to keep a giggle down as she types it. 

Satisfied, she marches down the street, leaving the now-happy couple behind. 


	10. Giving You My Heart and Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know I'm really bad at writing endings, so many thanks to all of you who have made it this far, have this anti-climatic, disappointing and mediocre ending. It was supposed to be epic but I couldn't really write it the way I wanted to. It just... wasn't happening. 
> 
> I can't apologise enough for how long it took to get this out to you guys. I've actually had this chapter finished since the 12th of February if you can believe it (I couldn't, I did a double take at the date next to the doc), but I've had a... bit of a falling out with my beta, you could call it, so this kind of fell to the wayside and I'd forgotten I hadn't posted it.
> 
> Still, thank you ever so much to Rianna for helping me throughout this fic, we all know she did an absolutely wonderful job. 
> 
> It hasn't been beta'd, but here it is: the final chapter! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Charles opens his eyes to find himself nestled firmly in Erik's arms, and he smiles to himself. It's a lazy Sunday morning, and the clock tells him it's only 7:32, so he knows he can go back to sleep for at least another hour. As he shuffles a little, he thinks that there's no way he could ever get tired of this, cuddled around his husband feeling safe and warm.

He's taken to whining in Erik's ear to come to bed early with him lately, and while he respects that Erik enjoys working and has a lot to do, he doesn't regret hauling the disgruntled man to bed with him to get some sleep before midnight. It's doing wonders for his skin, first of all, and Charles is also kind of sick and tired of the lingering taste of the bitter Americanos in his mouth after he kisses his caffeine-addicted spouse. Sure Charles may join him for a cup of coffee in the mornings, but he's really a tea person, and call him coffee-sensitive or just plain crazy, but he feels like kissing Erik too much when he's wired on coffee gives him the jitters for the rest of the day. 

It's been two months of not playing pretend, and the world feels like an entirely different place with Erik constantly by his side. The colours a brighter, the songs sweeter, and it's getting to the point that the media is now concerned that Erik and Charles will never make it out of the honeymoon phase as they back away from the two men step by step like as if the couple are a tiger that could swipe out at them at any moment, infecting them with a lovesick disease. 

By any case, just when their acts outside are becoming real, the media's moved on to a new topic to slander. Not, of course, that the two mind. Like, at all. It's great, honestly. Erik's only problem with it all is that they didn't back away sooner, although... he does suppose he owes it to the media for posting pictures of him with the bouquet he had ultimately trashed in the bin. The whole ordeal had caused them a great deal of pain, but it had also given them that little push that lead to them being able to lie like this, half-asleep in each other's arms on a Sunday morning. 

Now, the guest bedroom is an empty space with crisp white sheets collecting dust as if Erik had never even occupied it, and his belongings scatter the master bedroom amongst Charles' things in an organised clutter, just as they should be. 

"Is it acceptable for us to get out of bed at 12 and have breakfast for lunch today?" Erik asks Charles, watching as the man's face literally lights up like a Christmas tree, as it always seems to whenever Erik mentions something about taking it easy and being a little lazy. 

Christ, Erik isn't  _that_ much of a workaholic.

...Is he?

Charles complains about there being a little crack in the curtains that's letting light into the bedroom, but the light that filters through falls short about a metre away from the bed, so Erik taps Charles on the forehead as if to scold him and just pulls the covers over their heads so that he doesn't have to get up. His husband can be a little bit of a whiney baby at times, not that he really minds. He places a small kiss to the crown of Charles' head and tells him to go back to sleep with the promise of waffles and pancakes with too much maple syrup and butter for lunch. 

Lulled by the toasty warmth of their bedroom, two months ago completely forgotten, the two fall fast asleep once more. 

-«•»-

_"REVISITING THE ROMANCE: EXCLUSIVE STORY ON PAGE 2!"_

Erik sighs.  _Really_ sighs. Maybe renewing their vows with a proper wedding ceremony was a bad idea, especially if it means that the media will be pining after them all over again. They're called in for an interview at some point by a place who names themselves Buzzfeed, and they "confess" their story of how they had been yearning for a proper ceremony for a very long time. Considering the blow up around their marriage the first time when they had "tried to be discreet", the two felt that they should have just had the flower-speckled ceremony they were wanting the first time around, but here they are.

The crowd loves it, and this time, Charles doesn't mind that the pictures are all over the internet because he looks really good in a tux, and Erik cleans up kind of nicely.

(Okay, who is he kidding, Erik totally stole the show there with how great he looked.) 

It's a rustic wedding, out in the fields with weathered timber and handmade paper lanterns and muted colours that compliment the greenery they're surrounded by. 

Sharon cries, a feat Charles could have never expected to see, as does Edie and as Jakob doesn't (except that he totally does. Just a little though). 

Erik's vow is much more humorous than Charles', and he almost wants to sulk that his husband's been hiding such a great sense of humour from him, but he supposes he makes it even by showing the public how Erik's blush lights up his entire face and goes straight down the collar of his shirt with his sap of a vow. And with the flash of cameras constantly going off, Charles knows he'll have ample photo evidence of the event to blackmail Erik into cooking him that heavenly pork crackling again. 

Charles gets his hair messed up almost immediately after the ceremony is over, because Emma just can't seem to keep her hands to herself and needs to ruffle up the man's perfectly styled hairdo with a coo. Charles doesn't appreciate it, and neither does Erik because messing up Charles' hair was supposed to be  _his_ job, thank you very much. 

Erik receives a smack to the arm from Alex, who claims he's never seen the man so sappy that he almost had to walk out of the wedding three times to go and throw up, and he retaliates by raising his eyebrows at his friend to ask when Alex and Hank will be getting married, which effectively reduces the blond to incoherent stutters that barely form words, let alone sentences. 

Alex is right though, and when Erik looks back at himself at the alter, he shivers, because wow, he managed to get those cheesy words out of his mouth.  _In front of a crowd._ His only solace is that Charles was just as, if not more (definitely more), of a sap. Except that it's not that much of a comfort for Erik because Charles is supposed to be like that; what else would you expect from a little puppy of a boy? Erik on the other hand probably scared away half the guests declaring his undying love with a shark-like smile. He's almost convinced the people laughing at his jokes were doing so because they were nervous he'd come and murder them in their sleep, not because he was actually funny. 

He watches as Azazel pockets the Georg Jensen cutlery that people have neglected after finishing their meals and shakes his head. If this were any other person's wedding, Erik is guilty to say he'd be joining in (with his handy zip lock bags to take food home with him as well) but right now he can't find it in him to appreciate the life hack Azazel's perpetuating. 

He pretends to not see, for the sake of his friend, and looks down at his officially official husband chatting away animatedly to his cousin. Sure he may have been too sappy, sure he may have blushed too much, and sure he may have just caught one of his best friends stealing cutlery from his wedding, but in that moment, he doesn't think he could possibly have it any other way. 

——«•»——

"Dad, what the hell?" Jubilee shouts indignantly as her father enters her house. "You couldn't have broken it to her I don't know, a few years later? She hasn't stopped throwing a tantrum for two days straight!"

She's far from the adorable bundle of joy Charles remembers raising, and he shrinks a little into his skin as his daughter continues yelling, though not visibly, because he's not about to give the girl another chance to tease him. She's already a centimetre and a half taller than him, and he doesn't need anything else to be teased about - there's nothing quite as embarrassing as your own daughter squishing your cheeks together. 

The audacity of children these days.

"Now now, darling. It's not my fault you didn't raise your daughter well enough to be able to handle the news," Charles quips back, and oh dear, it really seems like he's spent far too much time with Erik. 

Another face pops into the corridor and makes its way to the front of the house.

"I don't appreciate you taunting my wife," the newcomer says. 

"I take it back, Ororo. I should never have given you my blessing," Charles chuckles. 

He can't believe it, really. Who would have thought? Even God couldn't predict that things would turn out like this on that fateful day when Charles had reluctantly signed that piece of paper with Erik Magnus Lehnsherr. He hadn't expected to be happily married for many years, he'd never even thought to consider that they might adopt a daughter, or that they would become as sickeningly domestic and happy like this. If Charles would've known it'd end like this, it could've saved him a couple of tears, but to be fair, at the time he was more preoccupied with trying not to skin his mother alive. 

Plus in the end, as he stands in the old townhouse that used to be his and Erik's, casually throwing around banter with his daughter and her wife, he thinks all of it was well worth it. 

"Listen, my children. You don't have a say! I'm in possession of  _the ring_."

It shuts them up with a chorus of sighs, and the two women deflate. Even Jubilee's bouncy waves of hair that are tied up behind her head in a ponytail seem to sag a little, and Charles would have had pity, if it weren't for the fact that many years ago, he'd been put into much a similar situation. 

A young girl looking around the age of twenty walks through the door at that moment, the shopping bags overflowing from her hands signifying that she's spent too much money at the shopping centre yet again. 

"Grandpa, this is about that stupid marriage thing, isn't it. I don't get it! Why? Why me? Why now? I don't wanna!" the girl whines as soon as she sees Charles, bags dumped on the floor at the entrance of the house while she pouts. 

"Oh sweetie, do I have a story for you," Charles grins devilishly (yep, he's definitely spent too much time with Erik) and he leads his granddaughter into the living room for a seat. "Kitty, I want you to listen very carefully. You're in for one hell of a story." 

To his credit, Charles leaves out most of the make out sessions, and a couple of his little sob stories, because he doesn't want his husband to look too much like a devil, he can't have his granddaughter not liking her other grandfather. He puts the emphasis on their team work, and he nudges Kitty with his elbow and tells her that she's got nothing to worry about because he has good taste. When she expresses that "people don't even do arranged marriages anymore" with a roll of her eyes, Charles says "that's what I told your great grandmother, but did she listen? _Nooo_ , so you can suck it up!" He says it jokingly though, and he assures her that if it doesn't turn out all lovey dovey and mushy like him and Erik, at the end of it, she's made a good friend that she can trust and turn to whenever she needs.

Kitty mellows down a little after that, and gives a half-hearted nod of approval that says "Yes, Grandpa. I'll marry the friggin' dude." 

It's not very enthusiastic, but Charles will take it, considering his own response was to ask his mother "why didn't youhave to go through this suffering?" with a sneer.

Unconsciously, Charles' hands come up to play with the necklace around his neck, the ring dangling from it tarnished because he plays with it too much. He stifles a small giggle at the memory of Erik brandishing the box that contained said necklace like as if it were a weapon, then smiles at his granddaughter. He's so sure that the young man he's chosen for her is just her type. He hasn't been  _stalking_ per se, but he's been studying her whenever he's been around from a young age, and he can't help but see a clear pattern in the girl's crushes. 

Caring, witty, a little stoic but compassionate nonetheless, with a zealous nature to the things he enjoys doing. Take for example the little soccer boy from kindergarten that Kitty had harboured heart eyes for every time Charles was on pick up duty. Except... minus the witty part, because he was about five, after all.

The Drake's are wonderful people, and their son is indeed caring, witty, a little stoic but still compassionate, and he has a zealous nature to the things he enjoys doing. Charles would know, he was his teacher, back when the kid was about yay high and obsessed with his spiderman light up sneakers. 

Charles remembers suddenly that he told Erik he'd pick up that damn under-sink water filter so that they could finally use their special drinking water tap again, and shoots out of his chair.

Kitty has one niggling question for her grandfather before he leaves, though, and she screeches it at the retreating form as it dashes down the driveway at a speed that's honestly too fast for a man his age. 

"Who the hell is Bobby anyway?" 

Kitty hears a hearty laugh echoing down the street from her grandfather's car, but no response. 

She huffs, crossing her arms.

Guess she'll just have to find out when she marries the guy. 


End file.
